


Anchor

by rowdyhooligan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 21:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowdyhooligan/pseuds/rowdyhooligan
Summary: The reader will always be there to help Bucky through the bad times.





	Anchor

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted from tumblr

It was the quiet that caught your attention. 

“Buck, I’m home.” Locking your apartment door behind you, you tossed your keys into the candy dish on the hall table, calling out again when he didn’t return your greeting like normal. “Buck? Babe, you here?”

Still nothing.

Frowning to yourself, you knew he couldn’t have gone out, his keys next to yours in the candy dish. It wasn’t like him to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon, and you didn’t hear the sound of the shower running either. Shucking your coat and shoes, you padded down the hall to the bedroom, calling for him once more. The door was shut, a habit Bucky had picked up while on the run. Tapping on it three times to signal you were coming in, a muffled gasp was the only response from the other side of the wooden barrier.

“Bucky?”

No response.

Concern growing, you tried to keep your voice calm as you said, “Bucky, I’m coming in now, okay?”

Your suspicions were confirmed when you opened the door to see Bucky huddled in the corner, curled in on himself a tight ball. Chest heaving, sweat coated his face, blue eyes screwed up tight against whatever horrors his mind was showing him. Faint muttering reached your ears as he tried to count his breaths, but in his panic he kept losing his place. It was an all too familiar sight, the legacy of his time under Hydra’s control.

Dropping to your knees, you approached him slowly, keeping your hands visible. Though he would never intentionally harm you, there’d been times when you’d rushed in too quickly in your haste to help and only ended up making things worse. Either his panic would escalate and he would completely shut down, or he would lash out and try to escape, both of which you wanted to avoid.

“Bucky, it’s okay, you’re safe. We’re at home, in our bedroom. No one is here to hurt you.” Reaching his side, you continued, “I’m here, baby, I’m right here with you.”

You placed a gentle hand on his head, stroking the sweat soaked strands of hair, something you would often do when he had nightmares. He flinched at the touch, his eyes flying open to meet yours. Recognition flickered in his gaze, your name falling from his lips in a barely there whisper. Nodding in encouragement, you continued to smooth back his hair, murmuring reassurances.

“Babe, you need to breathe, just like Sam said, remember? Come on, I’ll count with you, okay.”

Inhaling as you counted aloud to seven, you held the breath for four counts, exhaling to another count of seven. Repeating the action, you rubbed a supportive hand up and down Bucky’s back, encouraging him to follow your lead. Breath hitching in his throat, minute tremors racked his limbs as he tried to imitate you.

“I- I can’t stop it. I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Just breathe. You don’t have to be sorry for anything- I’ve got you.”

Taking his flesh and blood hand in yours, you placed his palm against your chest, continuing the breathing exercise. His hand was cold and clammy on your skin, but you ignored it as you kept counting, covering his hand with yours. The steady rise and fall of your chest seemed to help, his body gradually uncurling from its cramped position. Knees creaking in protest, you shifted from your kneeling position to sit down beside him, never once stopping the count.

Bucky put up no resistance when you gently urged him closer, leaning into your side to lay his head on your shoulder. Wrapping your free arm around his back, you sat there with your backs to the wall, legs stretched out, only the sound of your counting to break the silence. You could feel him relaxing into you, the slight trembling slowing before ceasing altogether.

After several minutes, you spoke up again. “Are you ready to play Countdown?”

“I…I think so.”

‘Countdown’ was a technique you’d read about online, a way of helping people who suffered from panic attacks. Counting things he could perceive with his senses grounded Bucky in the here and now, chasing away the memories that haunted him.

“Okay. What are five things you can see?”

“I see…the bed,” he began, voice unsure. At your hum of encouragement, he continued, “Your feet. The dresser. The doorknob. That- that ugly lamp you won’t let me throw away.”

“Hey,” you jokingly chastised, earning a weak chuckle. “Alright, smart aleck, next step- what are four things you can touch?”

“You,” he responded immediately, fingers flexing over your heart, his tone steadier. “My jeans. The wall, and the floor.”  
  


“Good, you’re doing great, Buck. Now keep going- what are three things you can hear?”

“Your heartbeat. There’s a dog whining downstairs. The couple two doors down is arguing again.”

“That’s a shame,” you noted absently, glad to hear the life returning to his voice. “Two things you can smell?”

“Sweat,” he said, wrinkling his nose a little, “my sweat. Your shampoo is a lot nicer.”

“Glad to hear it. Okay last one- one thing you can taste?”

“Mint. I was- I was chewing gum before…I think I swallowed it…”

“Good thing that whole seven years to digest myth isn’t true,” you teased, relieved that the worst of the attack was over. Bucky sounded a lot steadier now, his breathing calm and normal. He had yet to move away, though, and you weren’t about to make him. From the way he clutched at you, it was easy to tell he still needed the comfort you offered. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He hesitated a moment before shaking his head no.

“That’s okay, we don’t have to if you’re not ready,” you assured him, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. If he wasn’t ready to talk, it was best to distract him. “What do you say we order pizza for dinner and watch some trashy reality TV. Sound like a plan?”

“Yeah, sounds…sounds good.”

“Alright, pizza and Kitchen Nightmares it is.”

After digging your phone out of your pocket and placing the order, you went back to stroking Bucky’s hair, filling him in on your day, pausing every now and then to check in. He eventually relaxed enough to agree to move to the bed, something you and your numb ass were grateful for. Stretching out on the comfortable mattress, you pulled him down beside you, content to play the part of big spoon as he curled himself into your warmth, his ear pressed to your chest. Toying with his hair, he surprised you by taking one of your hands between his, the cool metal and warm skin welcome and familiar.

Glancing down curiously, your heart sank when  he stubbornly refused to meet your gaze. “Buck?”

“I’m sorry, babe,” he began, shame creeping into words, “I don’t mean to break down like that, you know I don’t. ‘m sorry you have to see it, and gotta be the one to deal with me.”

“James Buchanan Barnes, you listen to me and you listen good: don’t you ever apologize for that. I know you can’t help when these things happen, and I’m just glad I was here to help you get through it. It’s not a burden or a chore for me to help you, you know. I do it because I want to be there for you when you need me.”

“You-”

“I’m not done, Sargent.” Tugging lightly on his hair, you forced him to meet your eyes. “I’m here because I love you. I knew what I was getting into when we got together, and I have never once regretted it. I knew there would be bad times to go with the good, but you. Are. Worth it. So don’t you dare try to say you’re sorry for something you have no control over.”

He just stared at you for several long moments before pressing a hard, bristley kiss to your palm. “How the hell did a guy like me manage to get you?”

“Barnes, you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. ‘fraid you’re stuck with me now, got it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I got it.”

“I mean it, Bucky. Don’t try to do that thing where you push me away or shut me out cuz it won’t work.”

“I know,” he said ruefully, “I promise I’ll try not to. To be honest, I don’t know what I’d do without you. You…you keep me here. Keep me present. My anchor.”


End file.
